But A Dream
by gingerlizard91
Summary: [GSR] A conversation only geeks could have. PostTOYD. Warning: it's fluffy and spontaneous.


A/N: I literally wrote this fic in about 45 minutes, therefore all mistakes are mine. It takes place post-TOYD and is proof that I've been reading Romeo and Juliet waaaay too much. Shakespeare was a genius. And a pervert. Okay, so he was a perverted genius, or so I just found out a few weeks ago. Anyway, it's his material in this fic, you get the point.

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His gaze was intriguing, fascinated, and perhaps contemplative. 

Her smile did not fade, for she feared he'd misunderstand her if she shot him a confused look. Instead, she chose to fidget in her seat and close her reading. It wasn't that he was making her uncomfortable. It was the _way_ he was staring at her, a few seconds longer than she'd expected. Sara had to admit that since their meeting with Caprice, Gil Grissom had changed. Maybe the other guys didn't notice it yet.

"Interesting case, to say the least," Sara finally spoke up, desperate to break the silence.

Grissom simply nodded and conspicuously broke his gaze on her, absentmindedly fiddling with his pen on the table.

Sara had no idea what to do now. If she remained seated, he'd probably spark a game of footsie. If she got up, he'd no doubt be checking her out, and she knew that hungry look he got in his eye once in a blue moon. If she walked out of the breakroom, he'd be sure to follow. She opted to leave, hoping he could sit alone and keep that pensive look on his face for a while longer. She had to admit it was an adorable expression on him.

The brunette exhaled slowly and stood, flexing her long legs and yawning. Grabbing her paperwork, Sara flashed one last smile at Grissom and strode to the exit. She was halfway in the deserted hall when Grissom spoke.

_"Oh blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,_

_Being in night, all this is but a dream,_

_Too flattering sweet to be substantial." _

Facing away from him, Sara scoffed and chuckled, at first giving no second thought to his quote. She took another step forward, and it hit her like a fully-stocked field kit being thrown in her face: _Romeo and Juliet_. She pivoted on her heel and prepared to play along.

"You just said that to get me interested," she accused. Sara resumed her seat hastily.

Grissom looked amused.

"What does the tragedy of two teens in lust have to do with this case?" Sara continued.

The night shift supervisor shrugged. "From the moment Romeo lays eyes on Juliet at the party, he's quick to fantasize about marrying her, always being with her, always loving her. He's quick to do everything he does, for God's sake. The play happens within the course of a week."

Sara was beginning to understand, though she still had to question his motive for bringing up such a topic. "His fantasy becomes reality and becomes fantasy again when he believes she's dead."

"And as twisted fate would have it, he takes his own life, dying with that lingering fantasy that their love will be eternal once he ascends to Heaven."

With striking realization, Sara raised an eyebrow, masking her surprise. Was he taking this conversation to heart?

"It's an idiotic tragedy is what it is," Grissom added.

"It's teenage hormones," Sara corrected. "They're all nutcases."

Grissom nodded knowingly. "Love makes people do crazy things."

She was not going to smile. She was not going to smile. She was not going to smile.

Yet the corners of her mouth were on marionette-like strings and were being pulled upward by some invisible force.

His were, too.

"You're free to go, fair lady," Grissom muttered as he hid his face.

Sara stood, watching, waiting…wishing he'd say something more. But Grissom seemed to have used the last of his wit and needed to refuel for their next banter. She sauntered to the doorway again, and with a grin, said:

_"Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow_

_That I shall say "Good night" till it be morrow." _

Without another word, Sara walked out. She did not hear Grissom's own parting words:

_"How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,_

_Like softest music to attending ears."_

Grissom smiled. He'd had his…_satisfaction_.

END

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A/N: Wherefore art thou, normal life? Thou hast fled like the flock of 'shippers to the forums. 


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